The World’s First Futa – Futa’s Public Delights

Chapter Three: Futa’s First Naughty Live Interview

By mypenname3000

Copyright 2018

April 17th, 2047

“So I have a question for you, Becky,” Adelia said, her hand stroking my thigh with such a familiar fashion, “and I am sure all our viewers and in-studio audience are wondering the same thing.”

“Shoot,” I said, my clit-dick aching beneath my skirt. I felt the eyes of the world on me at this exact moment even though Adelia leaned her caramel-hued face closer to me, invoking an intimacy reinforced by our recent fucking during the commercial break.

“Given your effect on women who haven’t been bred by your girl-dick yet, how did you keep Amelia McCreery from just pouncing on you he moment her lusts overwhelmed her?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Are you telling me, Adelia, that you haven’t watched the interview yet?”

Her hand squeezed my thigh, sending a naughty thrill down my leg. “Well, of course I have. But I’m asking for those who haven’t. I mean, it’s a twenty-nine-year-old interview. I have a feeling the younger generation hasn’t even heard about it. So, for their edification, why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Well, I planned on doing it on sheer willpower,” I said. “But… I have a hard time resisting a pussy in need of being bred, too.” I shivered, my girl-dick throbbing in skirt.

“Breed me, Madam President!” a woman howled from the studio audience.

There was a reason a barricade was erected between us and the audience, a screen of metal that didn’t block their sight of me, but kept them from being able to rush the stage. And held far enough back, my pheromones would only just reach them.

“So I came up with a plan on the spot.” I glanced off-stage to where my young wife, Sharron, watched. I motioned to her.

Her blue eyes blinked. She pulled her fingers out of her mouth—she was sucking my futa-cum off of them she was scooping out of her pussy—and strolled forward. Her strawberry-blonde hair bounced about her shoulders as she strutted onto stage while the cameras were streaming the interview. The previous times were during the commercial breaks.

“So,” I said, “you all know my lovely bride.”

A loud cheer erupted from the studio audience. Sharron beamed at them, waving, her left hand cupping the swell of her baby bump. She was pregnant with our third child, the only woman I’d bred more than once. The super ovulation only happened that first time with women. After that, birth control and natural cycles appeared to work normally with my futa-seed.

“So, with her help, I’ll show you what I did,” I said and pulled up my skirt, unveiling my girl-dick to the live broadcast for the first time. I shuddered as I grasped my cock, stroking it in my firm hand. I stared out at the shrieking audience, a big grin on my lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

September 20th, 2018

“Put that bitch in her place,” Dona hissed, my brunette friend angered to learn that our sexual antics in the green room, waiting to be interviewed by CNN, were secretly recorded and used as part of their show.

When the “makeup girl” came in, I thought it was only natural that she lost all control for my futa-cock. Every woman did the moment they came withing sight of my nineteen-year-old cock. They breathed in the pheromones I exuded which, though no doctor was sure, caused them to go into heat. They just had to be bred by me, ovulating despite any birth control or what time they were in their cycle.

So Jordan, the “makeup girl,” lost control. She rode my dick hard, bouncing up and down my shaft. She was just so eager to be bred. She craved it, her hot pussy squeezing and massaging my dick. She wanted me to erupt into her. She wanted to be flooded by my jizz.

And I pumped her so full of my girl-spunk. Then the moment she came, she skedaddled. Didn’t stick around to do my makeup or anything. I thought it was weird. My entourage—my ex-boyfriend Kurt, Chris and his girlfriend Tiffany, and my friend Dona—were all as bemused as me. I didn’t give it too much mind, thinking that people reacted differently to losing control of their lusts.

Though I never met a woman who regretted it.

So imagine my shock when I noticed a TV in the corner of the green room that was muted but showing the CNN show I would be appearing on. I was told a man would interview me, but a woman named Amelia McCreery was running the show instead interviewing Jordan. The “makeup girl” was really a producer who was supposed to not have sex with me, and if she did, to see if she would conceive.

It was a setup. CNN wanted to show live sex. No doubt they wanted to capitalize on the fame surrounding me since I cheered at the Husky college football game five days ago. Didn’t they care about FCC fines?

Or did that not apply to cable channels?

Furious at being tricked, at being secretly recorded, I fumed as another producer, named Shawn, beckoned me to follow. Amelia was ready to interview me. The woman would, on live TV, try to resist the urge to have sex with me.

Well, I would make sure she didn’t. I would make her interview me like she was supposed to.

With my futa-dick throbbing before me, thrust out through my boy shorts, my skirt bunched around my waist, I marched after Shawn. My hands clenched into fists. I would show this Amelia McCreery!

She wouldn’t get to fuck my cock until I let her. If she thought she could just ride my dick and gain a name for her, or that she could record my friends and I having sex the way the paparazzi did, then she was so mistaken.

“Oh, my,” a woman gasped as I marched behind Shawn.

A young girl in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, a clipboard in hand, gasped. She backed away into the hallway wall of the Channel 7 Studio here in Seattle. The local news channel was hosting CNN’s crew and broadcast so I could stay here in Seattle. Her cheeks burst with color. Her eyes shot right to my dick. She licked it, that lust burgeoning in her.

She wanted my dick in her. She didn’t know why. But she could feel that itch forming in her. That need to be bred by my futa-cock. And my shaft twitched. My pussy clenched. My juices flowed and my ovaries ached.

I wanted to breed her.

And then it hit me. How was I going to stop Amelia from just mounting my cock right there during the interview. She would ride me the same away Jordan had only ten minutes ago. Amelia would slide her pussy up and down my dick, not caring it was fresh from Dona’s asshole.

Worse, I wouldn’t stop her. I couldn’t stop her. I would just be so horny for it. I would let her get away with her trick without even making her beg for it. Because I was just so hard for it, too. Because I had no self-control either.

I needed a plan.

We reached the studio. The crew were all men, some operating cameras, others holding boom microphones that thrust out over the stage and hovered over where Amelia sat getting her face touched up by a male makeup artist with an effeminate form in skinny jeans. He had a waist slimmer than my own. Other man moved cables out of the way or had headphones over their ears, talking quietly into them.

They all glanced at me. Jaws dropped as they men saw how hung I was. The gay guy glanced at me and tried to look apathetic, like he’d enjoyed bigger, but I could see the envy in his eyes. And Amelia… The black-haired woman shuddered, her eyes lancing on my cock like a hawk staring at a rabbit. She licked her lips, her bold nose quivering. Her narrow face only helped to give her that bird of prey look, that hunger for my futa-dick.

She would be on me in a second. She might not even wait for me to get there.

“Uh, Becky, I just need to mic you,” a young man said, his head fixed ahead with a rigidness even as his eyes kept twitching down. “Okay?”

“Yes,” I said.

I needed a moment to think. I had to do something about my cock. What? The young man fumbled to attach the lapel mic to my bodice and shove the battery pack into the back of my skirt. My dick twitched and throbbed before me and…

I spotted Jordan lounging nearby, her blue eyes fixed on me. She pursed her plump lips as her hips wiggled around in memory of how she danced on my girl-dick. I smiled at her, cocking a finger. She sauntered to me, her small breasts quivering in her tight t-shirt, her nipples poking hard against the fabric. It was clear her left nipple was pierced.

“Yes, Becky?” she asked, her voice throaty.

“You were very naughty,” I told her, grabbing her pierced nipple through her top. “Weren’t you?”

“Sorry.” The girl squirmed. “It was all Amelia’s idea. She thought it would be a good idea to show the effect you have on women and…” Jordan shook her head, her blonde hair, the tips frosted pink, danced about her shoulders. “What you do to women is impressive. I was all set not to fuck you, but the moment I walked in… I just had to bred.”

I twisted her piercing, feeling the barbell through the material. “Mmm, yes, you did, you naughty whore. And I need more help. Luckily for you, you’re going to feel amazing doing it.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Okay, Becky,” Shawn said, “we’re about to come back from commercial break. Amelia will introduce you. When she looks off stage at you, that’s your cue to walk on and take a seat next to her.”

“Mmm, got you.”

“And, uh, you don’t have to put your, um, penis away, but you can,” he said, his voice growing even tighter.

I gave him a smile. “Isn’t my cock why we’re here?”

“Yeah, it’s going to be a ratings bonanza,” he said. “Did you see the football game?